Body Language
by Tunisa
Summary: World Wrestling Entertainment  What happened one night after Rey Mysterio's match with the Great Khali. SLASH  BatistaMysterio. You have been warned.


I knew what I was up against. I felt like a child in the ring compared to him, which was pointed out to me no less than three times by the announcers. Almost like they were rubbing it in.

I knew I had no hope of winning. Just standing there in the ring with him, sizing him up as I came only up to his midsection, I could remember the pressure of his hands around my skull, could feel the tears of pain in my eyes and the scream that had ripped from my throat as he had tried to crush my skull in our last match. I didn't expect to win at this point. I would have been happy to live without any permanent injury.

The referee separated us, and as I backed away, I felt like I was only growing smaller. There would be no way for me to overpower him. He had two and a half feet on me, at least a hundred pounds—I couldn't remember exactly; I had been trying to blot out the announcers as they had said just how much bigger he was than me. Didn't feel the need to remind myself what kind of disadvantage I was fighting against.

The bell rang, and my heart was suddenly racing. I had been trying to suppress my fear, had been holding it back, but that bell was no better than the tolling of my death bell.

And my executioner would be the Great Khali.

The only way I'd even have a chance would be to outmaneuver him. I was faster.

But speed was nothing when you were fighting a brick wall. He stood in the middle of the ring, staring me down as I moved around him, looking for an opening. Shame I didn't remember that brick walls didn't really have openings.

Once he got his hands on me it was no better than last time, and with that first blow, I was on the mat, holding my head and writhing in agony, with the ref in my ear, and the roaring of the crowd a million miles away.

Did I want you quit the match? Did I want it to be over?

I wanted to answer him yes. I wanted it to be over. But I couldn't do that. I wouldn't give in, even if it meant returning to fight the giant.

He was Goliath, but I was no David. I had no slingshot, and doubted it would have helped me if I had. I had no divine intervention. Just my muscles, my speed, my brains.

And they did me no good as Khali got his hands on me twice more, sent falling to my knees when I finally got a hold of the rope to free myself. Even then, he only let go after another ten seconds, he held on as long as he could without the ref calling for the bell, as if his hands longed for my pain and blood, longed to prove that they could take my life, and that they would take Batista's just as easily in next week's match.

Batista was watching in the back, I knew, probably on the edge of his seat, all too eager to run out to the ring for me, to take down Khali now.

I took another moment to catch my breath, and then I went back to the match.

Finally, finally, I got a good hit on him, a 619, and a beautiful one at that. Well, maybe not, but it felt beautiful, to see the giant stagger back and grip the wall to keep his balance.

But then Finley was in the ring, coming after me with that damn thing of his. I moved quickly though, the adrenaline pumping through my veins at the giant's temporary fall urging me to take out Finley. I barely heard the disqualification bell ringing. Signaling that I had at least won the match by default.

Default didn't matter, though. Finley was still coming after me, and I knocked him down, tried to throw myself back against the rope, only to feel a sudden sharp blow against the back of my head that made lights flash in front of my eyes and knocked me off balance, long enough for Finley to get back to his feet, and for Khali to get back in the ring. They brought my neck down on the ropes, and I crushed a grunt of pain in my throat. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Then they were setting me up for a slam, and I didn't have the energy or the will to fight back; I prepared myself for the worst.

But then the crowd was going wild, and Khali and Finley let go of me and I fell and rolled to the side of the mat.

I didn't have to look up to know that Batista was there. Feeling the sudden bangs on the mat, barely hearing his enraged yells over the screaming crowd, just feeling his overbearing presence nearby, I knew it was him. I lay on the mat, holding my head, feeling the pain throbbing through it, now even more so than before as the adrenaline was now fading from my system.

I heard the bang of a metal chair against hard skin, and then heard said chair being thrown to the side.

I tried getting to my knees, but my head reeled, and I just barely made it, clutching the bottom rope with a fist so tight, my knuckles went pale.

Then Batista was kneeling down next to me. His hands were on my shoulders, softly touching the back of my head and the side of my face, softer than you could expect from someone who had just beat the crap out of two men, from someone who was the Champion.

I looked up at him, and he was staring down Khali and Finley as they left the arena as quickly as they could, and there was a smoldering anger in his dark eyes that warned them of the pain that would soon befall them. When they had finally left, or were at least too far away from us to bother him, he turned back to me, lowered his head towards me, and there was a kindness in his eyes and a gentleness in his voice and he leaned his forehead in towards mine, "You okay, Rey? The second I saw Finley, I got out here as soon as I could…"

The worry on his face was enough to know it was true. I could see that the image I'd had of him being on the edge of his seat was true. He'd been hoping for a reason to come out and defend me, and Finley had given it to him. Batista was never one for unfairness, and two on one was more then a good enough offense to bring him out here for me.

Despite the growing lump on the back of my head that was throbbing steadily, I smiled lightly at him, "Yeah, yeah… I'll be okay."

There was a slight glow in his eyes as he looked down at me, locked his ever intense gaze with mine, and his hand rested ever so lightly on the back of my neck. He was close, and I knew he wanted to be closer, but with the cameras focused on us, there was nothing more we could do.

He stroked his hand once over my head, and I felt the tenderness of the gesture through my mask. "Come on, let's go."

Batista helped me roll out of the ring, then strung my arm over his shoulders, and helped me out of the arena. A good thing too; I didn't think that I could have walked on my own, and I had to lean heavily against him as we walked, the side of my tanned chest pressing into his.

We left the blaring noise and the glaring lights and stifling heat of the stadium, for the starkly contrasting silence and cool air conditioning of the fluorescent white halls in the back.

Just a few minutes later we got to Batista's dressing room and he helped me onto the couch, sitting down with me with concern glittering in his eyes and knotting his brow. "You were hit on the head, right? Let me see."

And, slowly, just a bit hesitantly, I removed my mask, suddenly feeling awkward and oddly exposed as the cool air of the room rushed in and hit my sweat dampened face and I drew my eyes back up to meet Batista's.

Then his hand was ever-so-lightly on the back of my head, his fingers seeking out the slowly forming bump. When they found it, I winced and his hand drew back. He pulled his hand in front of him to look at it, and it seemed we were both happy to see it wasn't bleeding.

Then his muscular arms had pulled me close against his chest, my now bare face pressing softly into his neck. His arms were around me, and our firm abdomens were pressed together in the possessive nature of his embrace. I inhaled and subconsciously took in the scent of our adrenaline-sweat soaked bodies, the combined scent being strong but not wholly unpleasant, mixing in me as if it were somehow right, and I easily picked out the natural musk of Batista's body over my own.

It wasn't often that he held me; it wasn't often that he had the chance to. The cameras usually stalked him, what with him being the champion, what with the gold he carried, Batista was among one of the most stalked wrestlers out there at the moment.

But behind the prying eyes of the cameras were moments like this, moments that felt like they would last for eternity. Moments that I wished could.

Batista wasn't a man of many words. His eyes and body always said more than his mouth ever could. And I didn't think it bothered me much. Who needed words when you could have someone holding you as intensely as this? I could practically feel him thinking, I could feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off of him as held me.

I didn't need him to tell me he cared to know that he did, and I think I was happier that way. Words could lie, but this? This couldn't.

We were quiet together for a long time, and I knew he was trying to blow off the anger left in him from Khali's and Finley's attack before he tried to address me. I could feel him slowly deflating, and a few minutes later his head sunk down onto mine, and his voice was soft in my ears, "Next week. He's going down. He'll be lucky if I don't kill him."

For hurting you, for toying with you just to get to me. The words were there without actually being said.

I nodded, wrapped my arms around his back and hoped he was as good at picking up unsaid words as he was at giving them off. Right now, my arms were all the strength I had to say this.

I'm happy I have you, they said. You're all I could ever need.

I love you.

And almost as if he had heard the words that found a voice only in my head, he pulled back from me with a slanted smile on his lips, and his hand softly caressed the side of my face.

I love you too, it said.

We looked at each other for a long time, and I relished in that deep look in his dark brown eyes, wishing my own were as expressive so that I wouldn't eventually have to find a voice to express the feelings I couldn't show him.

After a long moment of that intense connection, I finally found my voice, and said softly with a smile, "I think I'm gonna get a shower."

I used his strong shoulders to help me get up off the couch, shaking the last of the dizziness from my head. I'd taken only a few steps towards the bathroom when I heard the couch creak, and felt Batista come up behind me, felt him following me and felt the smile on his lips without even looking at him.

There was a matching smile on my own. He was close to me as we walked towards the showers, and I could feel the heat of his body near mine.

I'll help, it said.

My heart raced and my smile widened at his nearness.

I'd like that, they replied.


End file.
